White Elephant
by theCalliope
Summary: Nyota is anorgasmic. Spock lends her a hand. Twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

**_WARNING: _**Sex, OOC-ness, general weird-ness

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Sex is the elephant in the room that neither of them will admit is an elephant because like any other well-adjusted twenty-third century couple, they can talk about these things. They talk about birth control and they talk about diseases and they talk about positions. But what they don't talk about could fill a room between them.

It's the trace of guilt that she sees etched on his face when he spreads her legs, sometimes. And the the expression of disappointment she often sees afterwards.

"Does that feel good?" he's asked a few times, and she's always nodded vigorously because the alternative is saying "no that sucks" which would kind of kill the mood. But he knows anyway. She can tell by the way he looks afterward, the way he almost says something, but then stops himself.

"You don't like it," he whispered once, after maybe the seventh or eighth time they did it. He looked gravely concerned.

"No, I like it," she denied in a voice that was perhaps too high-pitched, "I like being close, I like the pleasure and I like pleasing you."

It wasn't a lie. She enjoyed it, although it was more often the hot bath type of pleasure instead of the sexual type of pleasure.

Perhaps the problem was her expectations.

"I want to make you feel better than you have ever felt before," Spock had whispered to her through clenched teeth one night, before they started sleeping together. Back when she still had fantasies about what it would be like. He would be the last in a long line of people to tell her how great it would be if she would just try it.

"Maybe it will get better over time," Spock had suggested, that same night he had accused her of not liking it, that only night that they had really discussed it. At the time, he had been earnest. At the time he had truly believed it.

At first, she had believed it too. And she had been romantic and idealistic and thought it was enough to feel his skin against hers, to hear his breath quicken, to watch his muscles convulse.

But it got old quickly.

It was one thing to enjoy his pleasure, but it was a whole other to watch as it got better and better. To see him last longer, look more transfixed, be more exhausted afterwards. To see him improve without taking her along for the ride.

Once, she could tell it had been better for him than ever before. He'd made small noises as he moved, and more than once let out a ghost of a whimper.

"Was that good for you?" he'd asked hopefully at the end. He was still in the naive, it-will-fix itself stage of things.

And for once, she couldn't lie. She couldn't bring herself to say "I'm glad for you." She shook her head.

"Oh, Nyota," he whispered sadly and held her for a minute, and when he turned the lights out she sheds tears that she didn't let him see.

But she wasn't just upset. She was angry. On a rational level, she knew it wasn't his fault, but deep down she blamed him.

She thought that he should try harder. That he should forgo something. What business did he have getting so much pleasure, when she was below, watching him in wild, unshared abandon?

Not that she had any suggestions of what he should try at this point. But she wasn't the one who had made the promises.

And she has to blame him, because the alternative is admitting that she's broken. Defective. And she's nowhere near ready to admit that that might be the case. That she might always just be along for the ride. That things might always be like this.

She's so sick of hearing how great it's supposed to be and not being able to participate. She's sick of not knowing what it's like to want it.

And she's sick of not being able to tell people, always telling them that she likes it, repeating jokes that she heard somewhere but has no personal experience to know whether they're true.

She's sick of feeling less human than the half-Vulcan on top of her.

And for all she goes through, he can't even bring himself to talk about it?

Sure, he's tried. Once, he told her of the existence of artificial lubricants in great detail, as if it was something he thought she'd never heard of.

She would have asked him what planet he was from, had she not been worried it would launch him into an existential crisis.

Did he not realize that this was something that bothered her? That she'd thought about? Did he not realize that she had read every resource she could find on the subject, and unsurprisingly, some of them had mentioned lubricants?

There are so many things they don't do. They don't experiment. They aren't spontaneous. They don't talk dirty.

What's she going to say? Please fuck me unless hard there's something better to do. I kinda-sorta-maybe like your cock?

Sex is the elephant in the room that neither of them want to mention first.

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Wow, that turned out kind of angsty for the kink meme. Here's the prompt:

**_I am a twenty year old anorgasmic woman. As I currently lack a significant other, my entire sex life consists of fanfic. You may be able to see where this is going._**

**_Uhura is anorgasmic. She still likes sex, the intimacy, the closeness, the sharing of pleasure, and she truly enjoys bringing her partner to completion. She and Spock discussed this before they initiated the intimate part of their relationship._**

**_I want a fic where Uhura achieves her first ever orgasm with Spock. BUT NOT THE FIRST TIME THEY HAVE SEX. As awesome as Spock is, I really doubt he has a magical cock of infinite pleasures._**

**_I imagine it happening during drawn-out, unhurried, lazy-afternoon sex, but really, it's up to anon. Bonus points up for grabs if Uhura kind of overwhelmed. 'Cause, you know, I hear ogasms are awesome like that. *totally not bitter*_**

That was no fun. Next time I'm writing about a magical cock of infinite pleasure. Oh, and part II is coming :)


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Please see warnings on chapter 1_**

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She always holds back, just a little. He can feel it every time he touches her. Her muscles are taut and her whole body feels rigid. At first, he thought she was just nervous, but now he wonders why she always seems to be on edge.

Once, he brought it up.

"You should try to relax," he said as he pulled her onto his lap and started kissing her.

"What?" she replied with a giggle, and Spock realized that his posture was too stiff and his voice too stern to convey his message. She looked like she was about to laugh harder, so he pulled her into a kiss as she hung around his neck like an anchor.

He never had any grand expectations about sex, but he wishes that she would at least act comfortable.

****

It's afternoon when he gets home. It's been a long night, most of which involved disdainfully watching visiting friends pursue one night stands. When Spock gets in the door, he's irritated.

He's also raging.

When Nyota comes by, he doesn't wait to wrap his arms around her. He buries his face into her shoulder and starts kissing down her cheek.

"O'Malley," he says coming up for air, "Spent all night chasing this one girl."

"Was she pretty?" Nyota asks uncertainly, as if she's unsure where he's going with this.

"Human, freckled, overweight," Spock lists, looking up and then moving to kiss her shoulders.

"That's not very nice!" Nyota snaps.

"They are all objective observations," he replies demurely.

She laughs.

"Although I told him that I suspected he would not pursue such a girl if he were not intoxicated."

"Spock!" Nyota scolds.

"That is a subjective observation," he notes, with a hint of teasing.

"You," he continues, putting his hand on her stomach, "Are not overweight or freckled."

He moves his mouth to her ear and pulls her against him with both arms,

"The humanity I have learned to live with."

She tries to look angry, but smiles instead, and after a few minutes of silence, he carries her to his bed and she looks slightly alarmed. They almost never have sex during the day, but seeing that they also almost never have sex with the lights on, on top of the covers or wearing anything but their pyjamas, Spock sees no reason to dwell on this particular point.

He removes her clothes efficiently and spreads her out in front of him. Then he pulls off his own cloths and lies down on top of her. He tries to warm her up by stroking her breasts and between her legs, but it doesn't seem to be of much use. Her body's still stiff and her expression blank.

Eventually, he presses into her and she's warm and satisfying, but not responsive. Her arms are still and clamped around him. Her body is unmoving. He comes and he knows it's the good feeling before the guilt sets in.

"Did you read that new paper on suffixes?" she asks as the haze is still lifting off.

As he tries to clear his mind, he sees something in her face he doesn't like. She sneers at him.

"I'm sorry, you're busy," she says obnoxiously.

He wracks his mind for a response, but he can't think of any.

She sits up and slides off the bed, and it's then that he thinks that he'll be damned if she laughs at him, he'll be damned if he can't get a rise out of her. He grabs her arm and she gives him an irritated glare.

"I want ..." he says, but then doesn't know how to articulate what he wants.

"I think you should tell me what to do," he continues finally.

She thinks for a moment before she understands what he's saying.

"You know I don't know how!" she exclaims, sounding a bit frustrated.

"You can try," he spits back, frustrated as well.

Seeing the anger leave her eyes, he hoists her up onto the bed and tucks her under the covers. Lying next to her he whispers,

"Say yes or no," as he runs a hand across her chest and down between her legs. She tenses up immediately and he can tell she's not going to say anything.

He gives her a kiss, perhaps to distract her as he reaches between the folds, and then deeper. He dips in and covers his fingers in his come.

He removes them and begins to stroke gently. Just lightly, around the outside. He looks at her face, and her eyes are closed, which is a good sign.

But she can tell he's looking at her anyways.

"This isn't working," she declares.

"Give it time," he replies, a bit doubtful, but not wanting to give up.

He thinks he remembers a guy telling him that it takes like forty-five minutes at a bar somewhere.

"I just don't think I can," she whines, and then continues, "I read in a book that some people can't."

He considers stopping, but then realizes that talking's making her calmer and she's never talked to him about this before.

"Can you tell me about that book?" he asks, starting to stroke harder.

"It says that like two percent of people never have an orgasm," she recites. He looks up at her. Her eyes are still clamped shut.

"And at age twenty, you believe you are one of those people?" he queries.

She nods slightly, but seems distracted.

Spock goes on harder, brushing against her clit, circling her hole and occasionally dipping a finger in.

"I believe it will be at least fifty to seventy years before that can be determine conclusively," he states with false detachment.

She starts laughing,

"You're so funny sometimes, Spock."

He strokes for another few seconds and then lifts his hand to touch her breasts.

"No, don't stop that," she whispers, and he resumes, suppressing a smile. Her breathing really is jagged now.

With his free hand, he shifts him position so he hangs over her and presses his lips to her throat gingerly.

It's a mistake. It's as if she suddenly realizes what is happening. Her eyes open, her body tenses and she stares up at him. She begins to look around the room, as if bored.

His mind buzzes frantically as he tries to think of how else he can distract her.

"Can you touch my balls?" he asks finally, knowing it's a long shot but lacking other ideas.

"What?" she asks, seeming confused but less tense.

"You never touch my balls and I wish you would," he states with mock-harshness.

She gives him a long, strange look, but slips an arm between his legs and cups his testicles in her hands.

"You can squeeze harder than that," he picks arbitrarily, "and faster," he adds an an afterthought.

He slides his hand back between her legs, but she seems more concerned about whether she's using the right technique.

"Softer now," he says as he feels her breath quicken. Control is the downside of this strategy; he can already feel himself starting to harden.

But she's getting there as well, she's starting to respond involuntarily, bucking her hips, pushing herself against him.

He goes for the jugular and plunges his fingers in, leaving his thumb stroking fiercely. She moans and her hand tightens up around his balls. He bats it away.

She's about to open her eyes, but he lifts his hand up and covers them. He catches her in a deep kiss and she kisses back.

He can tell she's beyond pain. He bends his fingers and pushes hard while flicking with his thumb. She gasps and her body shudders.

Removing his hand from her eyes, begins touching her breasts harshly, twisting them.

She inhales suddenly as he moves his fingers in deeper and presses with his thumb.

"Fuck you," she whispers in the most endearing way, before taking in a sharp breath.

Then she goes completely silent.

Spock can feel the tremors as she clenches down on his fingers, and as his hand runs down her chest. He expression is rapt and he can see her shaking.

When she opens her eyes, she looks shocked.

"May I?" he whispers, looking directly in her eyes and she nods.

She spreads her legs and he lifts himself on top of her. She's still a bit stunned, but mostly, she feels tranquil and released.

He enters, but somehow, it's different than the other times. He doesn't seem guilty or distant. He seems amused.

As he pushes his length in, the feeling is deep and intense. She wraps her legs around him to try and push him deeper.

He's sweating. She's sweating. She digs her nails into his back and tries to lick his ear. She only gets part of it and it's a mess, saliva running down his neck, but she doesn't care. He makes a harsh sound.

He's going harder and faster and he touches her all over: her face, her breasts, her ass. She feels the pleasure surge and she freezes, in a good way, and feels the room shatter as he pulls her even closer, goes even deeper and growls as he convulses.

She feels his seed trickle down her thighs as he rolls onto his back and lifts her on top of him. She rests her heavy head on his shoulder.

"Are you not pleased we tried that?" he asks and she gives a wide grin.

"But suffixes," she says, "Have you read the new paper on suffixes?"

She leans in and gives him a deep kiss.

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**_A/N: I can't decide whether this ending is incredibly weird or not. But anyhow, here it is_**

**_A/N2: Please review if you like. And review if you don't like. I'm glad to hear either way._**


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